Dust to Dust
by payroo
Summary: Written for thenuttyone for the DA ficathon hosted by baroque tragedy. AU: Leske becomes a Warden along with Faren Brosca. How two dusters dragged themselves out of the slums and into posterity, and the strange bond that connects them.
1. Chapter 1

**Part I**

He had smiled, clapped him on the back, made some vulgar comment about his sister. Anything to choke down the tide of bitterness that threatened to overwhelm him. Who would have thought Faren, of all the casteless dusters, would be chosen by some cloud-touched surfacer to be a Grey Warden?

Already he looked like some high-up in the Warrior caste. He held his head high, brand and all, the Aeducan mace the mad surfacer had given him clutched in his hand. It was hard to believe that only this morning they were roughing up poor merchants in Tapster's.

Now Faren would go, and Leske would stay. He knew the way the story went. When a duster managed to claw his way to the top, he sure as hell didn't take one sodding look back. No pithy connection was worth anything compared to the chance to get out of Dust Town.

And it wasn't even as if they had a connection, he reprimanded himself furiously. It was just sex—nothing more, just animal need to pass the time, no different from getting drunk at Tapster's besides the lack of a bill to pay afterward. Leske knew where he stood, and that was currently strata below Faren.

He turned to go, ignoring Rica's questioning glance and the glares from the assorted Nobles and Warriors. Back to the underbelly of the city, back to beating up defenseless sods for petty crime lords and drowning himself in the dust.

"Wait."

Even Faren's voice sounded more dignified now, the deep harshness authoritative rather than brutish. Leske kept walking.

"I didn't go through the Provings and kill Beraht on my own. You'd be cheating yourself if you let that one get away."

Leske stopped in the middle of the road. _What? _The surfacer said something in response, but he couldn't hear through the pounding of his heart in his ears.

"Either we both go or you leave here without a recruit."

"You do realize you'll be executed if you stay."

"Then you had better take the two of us."

Leske turned around.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Had Faren been cracked over the head during the Provings? What kind of mad duster spit on the hand that would pull him up? What kind of casteless whoreson looked back?

Faren looked him straight in the eyes.

"Did you even consider that I don't want to throw my sodding life away for a bunch of surfacers?" Leske all but snarled at his oldest friend, his mind spinning. It was wrong, all wrong.

The blond bristle on Faren's upper lip twitched as the other dwarf smirked. "Nope."

"You nug-brained bastard," Leske snorted, and the breath turned into a manic chuckle. He couldn't help it; Faren may as well have been six feet tall. He knew that if he were the one under Duncan's wing and if Faren were the one standing behind, he would have left without a second thought.

But here was Faren, standing with his arms obstinately crossed, looking at Leske with a mix of emotions he didn't even want to try to decipher.

The surfacer sighed with what sounded like exasperation, but his eyebrows were raised in intrigue. "Very well. We'll leave at once."

* * *

Leske wasn't half the warrior Faren was and they both knew it. Even when they were Beraht's enforcers, he had always stayed behind the cover of Faren's two-handed battleaxe, darting forward only to land a few harassing blows with his daggers. It wasn't a matter of strength—Leske was built along the same burly lines as the other dwarf—but of nerve.

Faren had an air of perpetual calm about him, even when he was hacking his enemies to bits or surrounded by hopeless odds. Some would dismiss it as casteless stupidity, but they were wrong—what Faren had was confidence. Despite everything, there was a brutish pride in his steady stance, in his level voice, in his half-lidded eyes.

And that was the fundamental difference between them. Somewhere along the line Faren had failed to internalize the lesson every casteless learned in Dust Town: you are dust and even the Stone shall reject you when to dust you return. As much as he hated it, the mantra governed the way he lived. If returning to dust was all he had to look forward to, then he would sodding make sure to avoid it for as long as possible.

But Faren, the mad nugcap, had always been separate from the usual duster nihilism. His madness had almost gotten the pair of them killed on more than one occasion; Faren would talk to a guardsman or Warrior Caste like he would to any other duster and it had fallen to Leske to supply more than the usual amount of kowtowing and wheedling to extricate them. Yes, there was no question at all that Faren was completely mad.

Perhaps his madness was why Faren now almost casually pushed his way past the tall grasses of the Korcari Wilds, gazing up at the sky with calm curiosity while Leske clung to the shadows, terrified out of his mind. The three humans with them said nothing of it, but already they looked to Faren to lead the way as they took their places behind them. The blond dwarf looked perfectly at home, and if not for his pale skin it was impossible to tell he hadn't lived on the surface all his life.

Then the earth was trembling, a huge wound like a gash ripped open and darkspawn were pouring out, surrounding them and screeching at them. They reeked like rotting death and _by the Stone_ they looked like monstrous corpses—

Leske froze, his daggers dropping from his nerveless hands and burying themselves in soft earth. He cursed whatever worthless criminal ancestors he had and wished that he had never followed Leske out to die under the endless black sky.

"What are you doing?" Faren roared, swinging his axe into the gut of a Hurlock twice his size and slicing it neatly in half. "Pull yourself together, man!"

An order: he could respond to that. He rushed to follow it and scrambled to pick up his daggers, Faren fending off the wave of darkspawn at his back. Still shaking, he took his old place in Faren's shadow, finding some comfort in the familiarity of striking after the brunt of the other dwarf's axe.

Finally, inconceivably, they stood victorious. Even as the two human recruits and Leske struggled to catch their breath, Faren knelt to collect the pooling blood in the four vials Duncan had provided.

Leske couldn't do this, wouldn't do it, didn't even want to try. His hands still shook in abject terror; he still felt the rancid reek of the darkspawn on his face. If this was the life that awaited him, he would have been better off in Orzammar.

To his left the trees thickened, the tangle of branches no doubt making it difficult for one of human height to traverse easily. It would be that easy to slip away from the back of the group and perhaps the humans might even think that he had been carried off by some darkspawn or wild beast.

He toyed with the idea of asking Faren to come along, but he dismissed the thought as soon as he had it. Faren was beyond him, had always and would always be better, nobler. Here the duster actually stood a chance at glory and greatness, abstract and distant things for someone like Leske.

Well, they had had their fun, Faren and Leske, but now it was time for the weaker side of that duo to make his exit.

He edged slowly away from the group as the humans watched Faren screw the caps onto the vials. Once he got to a decent radius, he broke out into a full run.

The human Alistair sputtered in shock and even Faren looked taken aback. Leske focused his eyes on the growth of trees ahead, not looking back. The crashing of heavy armor and the rustling of leaves came hot on his tail.

He caught his foot in an errant root and splayed gracelessly facedown into the mud. Faren immediately pinned him down in a tackle that left Leske winded.

"What do you think you're doing, you bastard?" Faren shouted into his face. "What are you trying to pull?"

The other dwarf's usual calm countenance was twisted with rage and, to Leske's horror, hurt betrayal.

"I thought we were _friends_," and Faren's choked emphasis on the last more hinted at something more.

It was too much to handle: the darkspawn and the terrifying openness of the new world above them and _Faren_, that blighted madman, and Leske wanted nothing more than to crawl back into the familiar dust.

"I can't do this," he admitted, wincing at Faren's viselike grip on his shoulders. "Why did you even want me to come with you?" He glared at the other dwarf. "I never asked for this! Sure, we were dirt in Orzammar but at least we had our lives!"

The punch was on his jaw before he even realized it was coming. He spat blood onto the damp grass beside his head. Faren's fist trembled, held in the air.

"You idiot," he hissed, and Leske's gut wrenched as he saw liquid burning in Faren's eyes. That was not ever supposed to happen. "Don't you see? This is our _chance_. Back in Dust Town we'd eventually turn on each other, or worse. You know friendships don't last in the streets. But here on the surface we don't have to live like that."

Faren offered a scarred hand to help him up. "I didn't want to lose you, Leske," he muttered in an undertone, and for perhaps the first time Faren Brosca looked hesitant.

"Damn you, Brosca," and Leske pushed aside the hand.

Instead he got up on his own two feet and stood level with Faren, their noses almost touching. Faren's heavy breaths were hot on his face, and for the longest moment they were silent.

"I need you," and Faren raised his hands, not quite resting them on the shoulders he had only just held in a death-grip.

"No you don't," Leske growled, but his fear had passed. What replaced it he couldn't tell, but the idea of running away had abruptly lost its appeal.

Faren opened his mouth to say something and Leske crushed his lips, still bloodied from Faren's punch, to his. He was rough and brutal and absolutely intoxicating.

They broke away, neither looking into the other's eyes.

There had been an invisible but firm line in their relationship; they might spend an otherwise lonely night rutting but they had silently agreed never to make anything more of it. And in the underbelly of Orzammar that had been perfectly fine—sentiment had no place in the streets.

Leske felt the line crumble beneath his feet as he pushed through the bush after Faren, slowly following him back to the humans. The other dwarf spouted some lie about Leske having seen some stragglers, and though Alistair raised an eyebrow he made no comment and merely led them onward.

* * *

The human Jory was blubbering, backed against a wall.

"I have a wife! A child on the way!" his hand fumbled for his greatsword. A fatal mistake. "There is no glory in this!"

Duncan spit him like a pig on his own longsword. His body joined Daveth's already still corpse on the flagstone.

Leske watched him bleed out impassively. Such a human would not have been useful anyhow. He had everything to lose, little to gain.

How lucky for Faren and him that they had nothing in the world but each other's backs to watch out for.

Duncan handed him the chalice. The blood was dark as Orzammar ale. With a smirk in Faren's direction, Leske drank deep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part II**

They had both known the return to Orzammar was inevitable. That didn't prevent them from putting it off as long as possible, first journeying to Redcliffe, then that Stone-cursed Tower, and now they were finally leaving the thrice-damned forest.

Leske carried himself differently now, a bit of a swagger in his stance to match Faren's. So much had changed since that day the two of them left for the surface air almost a year ago, or so he thought.

But when he felt the familiar crunch of dirt beneath his feet, when the heat of the molten lava bathed his face in a dull red glow, he couldn't staunch the feeling of dread that welled up in his lower abdomen. As they walked through the Diamond Quarter he could almost feel the brand on his face. He found his eyes straying to his feet.

As they passed an alleyway, Faren grabbed him by the wrist.

"Stop that," he growled.

"Stop what?" Leske snapped back, already ill at ease.

"That pathetic look on your face. It pisses me off."

Leske glared at him. "Then stop looking." He moved to leave and Faren stepped in front of him.

"You're not meant to look like that." And before Leske could punch him to shut him up, the mad duster opened his mouth again.

"Leske, I love you."

He stared at him. Faren's face was dead serious.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know."

Why did he have to go out and say something like that? Wasn't what they had enough already? They watched out for each other's backs in battle and slept together at night.

Faren avoided his eyes and ducked out of the alleyway.

His words seemed meaningless at the time, but they kept turning over and over in Leske's head.

He was alone, sleeplessly standing in the courtyard of the inn they were staying at. The inn itself made it hard enough to rest, the accusatory eyes of the upper castes making the hair stand on end on the back of his neck. He didn't belong there; he felt it in his casteless bones.

A hooded dwarf walked suspiciously close by. As if talking to himself, the stranger remarked, "They say Jarvia's hard-pressed to find a capable right-hand man. Ain't no one else like those two enforcers what become Grey Wardens now."

The stranger leaned in closer. "She only 'opes that one of them Grey Wardens would get tired of throwing themselves at darkspawn."

Leske scoffed. "What're you proposing, duster?" His fingers itched for the dagger strapped to his side.

"'M just passing on a message, Warden. Jarvia knows you, Leske. You're not a one for self-sacrifice. Wardens either end up dyin' in the Deep Roads or on the surface. Either way, she can make a better offer. Go to the house where your pal Brosca used to live but he ain't invited. Jarvia knows he's the lapdog of Bhelen now that his whore-sister's married off to him, and that Bhelen's paid him off against the carta."

Just when Leske had decided in favor of slitting the messenger's throat, the hooded dwarf faded into the night.

Leske rested his head against his fist as he leaned on the railing. He had locked his mind into this cause, but now that a way out was being offered he didn't know what to think.

Faren's unprompted, unwanted words from that afternoon drifted into his mind. _I love you_.

He made his decision. Checking to make sure all his daggers were securely buckled in place, Leske made his way to Dust Town.

* * *

"Leske," came Jarvia's distinctive voice, something between a bark and a purr that made all her subordinates jump to attention. "I always knew you were the smart one in the pair. So glad you could make it."

"Get to the point. What's your plan?" Leske crossed his arms impatiently, all the while noting the visible and hidden carta thugs surrounding him.

Jarvia smiled, her hands at a proud angle on her hips. Her resemblance to Faren was startling: the same easy confidence, the same fiery mettle that drew those around so easily. It was odd to think that it could have been Faren in her place had Duncan never shown up.

"You become my right-hand man, live in the lap of luxury and all. I'm practically queen of this place. Lead your pal and his friends into the Carta's tunnels, you know the place."

Leske wryly curled his lip. Yes, he and Faren knew the place all too well, having been imprisoned within.

"Then we make them an offer they can't refuse."

"You'd kill Brosca?"

Jarvia pursed her lips. "Brosca's not the sort to roll over and surrender. If he'd be willing to drop this Warden shit, I'm sure he'd be useful, but I'm not interested in taking any chances."

"All right, sounds like a plan."

And as Jarvia reached her hand out to shake, Leske flashed his dagger into her throat.

She jumped back with surprising dexterity, but then again Leske supposed she hadn't clawed her way to the top for no reason.

"You little shit," she sneered, wiping the blood from the shallow cut on her neck. "Didn't realize sticking with Brosca for that long gave you a backbone. Get him!"

And the thugs that Leske had counted earlier emerged and would have struck him from hiding if he had not darted away from the places he had noted.

He had learned more than a few tricks from Zevran. His daggers struck with dead accuracy into the vital points of the guards, dispatching them with assassin efficiency. A kick below the belt to a particularly large one, and Leske rolled behind him to stab him in the small of his back.

He had barely relished this victory when an arrow plunged straight through his left shoulder, sending him to the ground. Jarvia notched another arrow to her bow and aimed-

A bolt of lightning laced through the air to hit her hand. Jarvia nearly dropped her bow with a curse.

From the ground Leske frantically turned to see Faren, Morrigan and Zevran at his sides, wreaking havoc with his battleaxe. Morrigan raised her hand and blue light enveloped the wound on Leske's shoulder, knitting the flesh back together. He pulled himself to his feet and flung himself at Jarvia, who brandished two blades of her own.

She was the better fighter, and Leske found himself being worn down by her constant flurry of attacks. Her dagger swung past his defenses, cutting him across the chest, and she would have pressed on if Faren had not lopped off her head with a mighty swing of his axe.

Leske watched her corpse bleed out, feeling strangely liberated. Jarvia was dead, and with her, the carta. The last strings of their old life were cut.

"Don't ever do that again," Faren snarled at Leske, jerking him round to face him. Leske suppressed a start at the lines of worry that crinkled Faren's forehead tattoos. "What were you thinking, going to face Jarvia on your own?"

He winced. "It was an opening. I had to take it."

Faren snorted, handing Leske a health poultice. "You're sodding lucky Zevran noticed you leave."

Leske ignored him. He couldn't help the slightly manic grin that was spreading across his features, even spattered with blood as they were. They had finally laid their own demons to rest and now only the archdemon was the last obstacle in their impossible dream come true. He felt readier than ever for what lay ahead.

Pulling Faren into a kiss that elicited a snort of disgust from Morrigan and a catcall from Zevran, Leske laughed, "I guess I love you too."


	3. Chapter 3

**Part III**

"Looks like I won after all," Faren smirked from over his mug of ale. Leske considered punching him in the nose but settled for a forehead-to-forehead headbutt instead.

Resting his brow against Faren's tattooed one, he laughed. "All right, you bastard. You were right about _everything. _Happy now?"

"That's me, the Paragon of rightness," Faren sat back and emptied his mug. "Oh wait, I _am _a Paragon now! You too, eh?"

Leske reconsidered punching him in the nose. Luckily for Faren, the hostess of Tapster's had just returned with another round. It was an indescribably wonderful feeling to see her and all the other tavern workers kowtowing to them, considering how many times she had thrown them out.

Then Faren was all over him, and Leske decided it was time they retired for the night. He relished the look of relief on the hostess's face as he practically dragged Faren out the door.

"We're Paragons," the mad duster muttered. "We can be as public as we want." And he groped in the vague direction of Leske's groin. Leske swatted his hand aside.

"Not when we've got a perfectly serviceable bed in the palace," he growled. "Think about it, Brosca! Rutting on the luxurious bed of your brother-in-law beats rutting under the noses of those Tapster's nugs any day."

They somehow made their way past the deferential palace guards and into their palace quarters. Faren ripped priceless silk from the curtains of their four-poster bed as Leske wrestled him to the mattress.

Leske had been with women before and had liked it but Faren was something else entirely. He was all thickly corded muscle and sheer solid strength. Every bit of purchase was dearly won and cherished all the more for that.

The ceremonial dwarven noble armor clinked as it hit the flagstone, and there was Faren naked on his back between Leske's pinning arms.

It had all been worth it in the end, Leske thought as he ravished the glorious angles of Faren's shuddering throat with teeth and tongue. Whatever worthless ancestors he had must have done something right.

He was cut from his thoughts when Faren hooked his sturdy legs around Leske's hips, pushing him against his hardening length.

"Hurry up and fuck me, Leske," breathed Faren. Leske felt the deep vibrations of his chest as he spoke as he pleasured the other dwarf's hardened nipples with his tongue.

"Gladly," he smirked around the nipple in his mouth, and with a quick application of the lube Rica had oh-so-considerately provided at the base of their bed, pushed himself into Faren's entrance.

The other man exhaled sharply as he threw his head back, tightening around Leske even as he pushed himself deeper until he was completely buried in him. His fingers dug into Leske's forearms almost painfully, leaving red welts where they dragged as Leske worked up a steady rhythm.

For all that he used to feel the weaker half of the pair, Leske derived a perverse enjoyment from having Faren around him like this, drawing forth helpless wanton groans from the man under him as he rubbed against his prostate. Faren's cock dug into his own stomach with every thrust from Leske that rocked the fine bed.

Faren's breathing quickened, his mighty chest heaving with exertion even as he clenched around Leske. The tightness was almost unbearably sweet and Leske heard his own strangled cries of ecstasy through a haze of warmth building behind his eyes.

He climaxed with a howl, emptying his hot seed into Faren, who gasped like a man drowning and convulsed, following shortly after. His seed splattered up his own stomach and chest as Leske collapsed against him.

When they had regained coherency, Faren pulled him into a rough embrace, the brand under his eye crinkling as he grinned.

"I love you so fucking much," he growled into Leske's tight braids.

"I love you too, you bastard," Leske laughed, nuzzling into the space between jaw and shoulder.

Against all odds, they had won after all and the victory was sweeter than Leske could have imagined.


End file.
